As she met his eyes, she had the oddest sensation settle into her chest. Part of it was fear, and that confused her. With the situation she’d been in, her savior had better be packing a forty and prepared to use it.

The other half of it was … not anything she wanted to look too closely at.

The tunnel terminated in a parking facility that reminded her of the one underneath the Caldwell Arena: shallow ceiling, plenty of spaces, the rising elevation that disappeared around a corner suggesting multiple floors.

“Where are we?” she asked as they pulled up to a closed door.

By way of an answer, the thing was thrown wide and a medical team came out, doctors, nurses, gurney and all.

“Thank the Virgin Scribe,” Assail muttered.

Oh … shit. The white coats weren’t alone—they were accompanied by three huge men: a blond with a face that belonged on the big screen, a military guy with a brush cut and an expression hard as a butcher’s block, and then a truly terrifying backup who had a skull trim and a scar that ran across his cheek and curved into the side of his mouth.

No, this was not the U.S. government.

Not unless there was a covert hard-ass department.

Assail reached for the door. “Stay in the car.”

“Don’t go,” Sola blurted.

He glanced back at her. “Be not afraid. They owe me this.”

Her savior reached out again, and this time he didn’t stop himself. He brushed her jaw so lightly that if she hadn’t seen him do it, she wouldn’t have noticed.

“Stay.”

And then he was gone, the door shutting solidly. Through the tinted glass, she watched as a fourth man came out of the brightly lit hallway. Yeah, that was no accountant over there … With a floor-length fur duster and a cane, he was dressed like an old-school pimp, his cropped Mohawk and sardonic smile fitting the image perfectly.

The man and Assail offered each other their hands at exactly the same moment. And they stayed linked as they exchanged words—

Something was wrong. Assail started to frown; then looked downright pissed. But as the Mohawked man shrugged and seemed unmoved, Assail finally turned over his weapon and was patted down for his others. And only after his men got out and subjected themselves to the same treatment did the pimp nod at the team of doctors and nurses to go over to the vehicle.

As they reached out to open her door, a spike of fear had Sola pull the sleeping bag right to her chin—

The woman who stuck her head into the backseat was handsome, with short blond hair and dark green eyes. “Hi, I’m Doc Jane. I’d like to take a look at you, if you’ll let me.”

Her voice was level. Kind. Calm.

Yet Sola couldn’t move or respond.

At least not until Assail appeared behind the doctor. “It’s okay, Marisol. She’s going to take care of you.”

Sola found herself staring into his eyes for the longest moment. When she was satisfied with what she saw, she whispered, “Okay. Okay…”

And that was when her trembling finally stopped.

Assail was not happy about his empty holsters, but Rehv had made it clear: Either he and his cousins went in unarmed, or the human female was not going to be treated.

It was the only circumstance in which Assail would have consented to be vulnerable and he hated it. But needs must.

“And her name is Marisol,” he heard himself say as the blond, female doctor began to speak in low tones. “Sola.”

From over on the left, he could feel Rehv staring at him, and the Council’s leahdyre wasn’t the only one. The three Brothers on guard duty were too professional to show anything, but he could tell they were wondering why he’d turned up on their doorstep with a human woman. Who was injured. Whom he was willing to give his guns over for.

“No, you stay there, Marisol. We’ll come around to the other side.” The female doctor eased out and nodded to her team. “Vitals are low but stable. Gunshot wound to right thigh. Possible concussion. Shock’s a concern. May have suffered other trauma she doesn’t want to tell me about.”

Assail felt the blood leave his head, but he didn’t allow the inclination to pass out any further leeway—

“You,” he called out sharply. “Stay back.”

The male—or, God, was that actually a human man?—stopped short.

The main doctor, the female, spoke up. “This is my partner. Dr. Manello. He’s—”

“Not to treat her.” Assail bared his fangs. “She is unclothed from the waist down.”

He was vaguely aware that everyone had frozen and looked his way. Was also aware of a scent that had suddenly entered the scene. He lingered on neither as he stared that man down, prepared to lunge at his throat if he continued around the back of the Rover.

The guy put his hands up as if he were faced with a gun. “Okay, okay. Let’s relax. You want me out, I’m out.”

Backing up, he stood with the Brothers, shaking his head, but saying nothing.

The female doctor put her hand on Assail’s forearm. “We’re just going to get her on the gurney. Why don’t you come around with me. You can watch and stay close.”

Assail eased off on his growl and cleared his throat. “I shall do that. Thank you.”

Actually, he did more.

When the doctor opened Marisol’s door, he hated the way his woman shrank back before she could catch herself. And then her eyes locked on his.

“Would you like me to help you out?” he asked roughly before any of the medical staff could move in.

“Yes. Please.”

It felt so right to push everyone away and be the male who cared for her: Reaching into the SUV’s interior, he scooped her into his arms, being careful to take the sleeping bag along with so that she was not exposed—

The hiss she tried to hold in made him nauseous, but he had to get her out—and once he straightened, she seemed to find an accommodation in his arms that didn’t cause her too much discomfort.

Her head fell against his shoulder and stayed there.

“I shall carry her in,” he informed the doctor.

“It’s probably better to—ah, okay, all right.” The blond healer put her hands up as his fangs flashed again. “That’s fine. Just follow me.”

The Brother Rhage was the first into the corridor, and the other two warriors hung back, bringing up the rear along with the cousins.

Assail walked as smoothly as he could, each stiffening of Marisol’s limbs or sharp inhale communicating her pain directly into his own chest until it was his lungs burning, his breath catching, his leg that ached.

Going along, they passed by a seemingly endless number of rooms, some of which he looked into, most of which he didn’t bother turning his head for. From what little he noticed, there were classrooms, an office that was empty … something that looked like an interrogation room. Just as he was becoming convinced they were heading for another zip code, the female doctor finally stopped and indicated the way into an examination room.

The gurney in the center was directly underneath a hanging set of lights, and as he went over and began to transfer Marisol onto the sheeted, padded surface, he was glad the healer didn’t turn the chandelier on. It seemed far too bright already in the tiled room, the stainless-steel and glass cabinetry glinting at him, the rolling table with its instruments a threat even though those tools were supposed to help in the right hands.

Dearest Virgin in the Fade, Sola’s face was gray from pain and exhaustion as she sat there, her knees up tight to her chest, that navy blue sleeping bag wrapped tight as a second skin around her.

“I’m going to ask all nonessentials to stay out in the hall,” the doctor said, shooing the Brothers, the cousins, and that male healer out. “No, nope—we’ll be fine. Right, bye-bye.” Then in a lower tone, she hissed, “He’s a bonded male. You want to deal with that if I have to do an internal exam on her?”

Bonded … male? Him?